Forever An Ex

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  I couldn’t wait for the day when I’d say to Noon, I was right and you were wrong. “Let me get going. Gotta get Angel off for her first day back to school.”

  “Tell my niece I said hello, and call me later. I can see I’m gonna have to give you a little push.”

  “Okay,” and then I clicked off the phone. I stared at the screen for a moment. Who was right? Me or Noon?

  “Mom!”

  I turned around and Angel was right up under me. “You’re finished?” Before she had the chance to answer, I said, “And what’s this about you being grown?”

  She grinned, a wide toothy grin with braces and all. “I am. Like, I know what you and Auntie Noon were talking about.”

  I tried to keep the shock off my face.

  She said, “You’re seeing somebody new and you like him and you think that he likes you, too.”

  She gave me such a triumphant look that all I could do was bust out laughing. “You are so wrong and that proves that you’re nowhere near grown. But you need to stop listening to my calls. That’s rude.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” But that grin stayed on her face. “But I am grown. Eleven is the new teenager. I might as well be nineteen.”

  I chuckled. “Girl, get your eleven-year-old self to school.”

  She grabbed her backpack, shoved her tablet inside, then swung the bag over her shoulder. When she leaned over, kissed my cheek, and said, “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!” all I could do was shake my head. Clearly, I didn’t have to worry about her being grown anytime soon.

  As she walked toward the front door, I rinsed out the bowl that she’d just dumped in the sink.

  I heard the two beeps indicating that the front door had been opened and then, “Daddy!”

  I froze.

  “What’re you doing here?” Angel shrieked.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Oh, my God! Bobby? Here?

  There was no way I could get to my bedroom without passing him, so I glanced at my reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator. I had nothing on, no makeup, no gloss, my eyebrows weren’t plucked. But at least my lashes were in place.

  I loosened the tie that held my hair in a ponytail and combed my fingers through, letting my hair hang past my shoulders. Then, with my fingertips, I patted my cheeks, smoothed down my eyebrows, and glanced at my reflection again. This was not the way I wanted Bobby to see me. I’d dreamed of greeting him at the door, wearing some almost-nothing negligee.

  But this was as good as it was gonna get. I took a deep breath and strolled out of the kitchen as if the love of my life dropped by every morning. Right as Bobby and Angel came into my view, I heard our daughter ask, “Did you come to take me to school?”

  “Nope,” he said, “unless you need a ride.”

  Angel shook her head. “No, I go in the van. So”—she frowned—“what’re you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to your mom,” Bobby said, looking up and seeing me. His smile was immediate, but not as fast as mine.

  Inside my head, I did that little humph, humph, humph, the way I always did when my eyes took in the full view of this man.

  “Good morning,” I said, bringing the words up from deep in my throat.

  Bobby said his own good morning to me, but Angel frowned again.

  “Mom, what’s wrong with you? You sound like you have a frog in your throat or something.”

  I wanted to smack my grown daughter upside her grown head. So much for her knowing everything. “You better get downstairs.”

  “Okay.” She hugged her dad, then turned to me. “So, you guys gonna be cool?” she asked like she really was grown. Her eyes moved from me to her father, then back to me.

  “Yeah, we’re fine, kiddo,” Bobby assured her.

  “I just want to make sure ’cause you know, you don’t get along.”

  “That’s not true,” Bobby and I said together, then looked at each other and smiled.

  Bobby said, “See, your mother and I are on one accord.”

  I chuckled and then hugged her. Not that I didn’t love my daughter, but it was time for her to go. “Have a great day, sweetheart,” I said, holding back my urge to shove her out the door.

  When she closed the door behind her, Bobby turned to me, jammed his hands inside his jeans pockets, and shifted from one foot to the other.

  It took him a few seconds to say, “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I thought they’d call up, but the concierge on duty has seen me picking Angel up and dropping her off and I guess—”

  “It’s fine,” I said, interrupting him. I hoped my tone and my smile put him at ease. He needed to understand, I wanted him here. “This is a good time.”

  He blew out a breath like he was relieved.

  “Come on.” I reached toward him like I was going to take his hand, but I didn’t touch him. I just led him into the living room.

  He paused at the arch for a moment, then took the two steps down into the massive sunken room. “Wow!”

  “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t been here since I redecorated.”

  He shook his head and took in all the living room furniture that I’d bought right after he broke my heart. He and I had decorated this condo, but when he left me, I called the Salvation Army to come and get that old stuff. Once I’d thrown away Bobby’s furniture the way he’d thrown me away, I brought in everything new.

  “No, I haven’t been here since . . .” He stopped as if that was a full sentence. “I guess I always meet Angel downstairs.” Still looking around, he added, “But this is really nice,” as he sat on the sofa.

  “Thank you,” and then just to lighten the moment I added, “and thank you for paying for it.”

  His eyes brightened as he laughed lightly, though he still sat on the edge as if he was ready to make a quick escape if he had to. “You know I’d do anything for you, Asia.”

  I’m telling you, at that moment you could’ve just scooped me up with a spoon.

  But then he had to go mess it all up, and correct himself: “Anything for you and Angel.”

  That was my first clue that this conversation wouldn’t be going the right way. His words felt like a reminder—that he’d always take care of me since I was the mother of his child.

  But then, I reasoned, of course he would mention Angel. Because he would do anything for her, too.

  I kicked off my sneakers, then tucked my feet underneath my butt. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked, though my eyes weren’t on his. I was focused solely on his lips; those lips that I loved to kiss.

  Bobby looked away and stared at his clasped hands.

  Now, I knew Bobby Johnson. And these little moves, this nervousness, this was just Bobby stalling, trying to put the right words together so that he wouldn’t get anything wrong.

  There was only one reason for Bobby to be nervous. It was because he wanted to be with me and he didn’t know how to say it.

  When he finally looked up, in his eyes I saw the same love that he’d always had for me. “So, you’ve been good, Asia?”

  “Yeah. What about you?”

  It felt strange the way we sat with each other, talking as if we hadn’t spoken in years, when in actuality, we talked on the regular. Of course, it was always about Angel. Before.

  After Bobby nodded for a while, he said, “Yeah, I’ve been good. Things have been working out. I wasn’t sure what life was going to be like after basketball . . .”

  “You were great on ESPN,” I jumped in.

  That turned his smile into a grin. He pushed back from the edge of the couch and leaned against the cushions. “Being a commentator was great. I loved that gig, but six years was enough.”

  “Yeah, I read that you gave that up. And now you’re doing the Magic Johnson.” I chuckled. “Buying up all of Los Angeles.”
>
  He laughed. And my heart did that skipping thing. His laughter took me back to when Bobby and I would sit together, talk together, and laugh just like this.

  “Well, it’s good to be in the same category as Earvin,” he said, calling Magic by the name that only those who were close to him used. Then his tone turned suddenly somber. “And, I’m following Magic in another way. I’m venturing into New York.”

  The mention of New York made my shoulders rise. There were two problems with those two words: First, I didn’t want to talk to Bobby about New York. And second, I was starting to get this little inkling that maybe Noon had been right.

  When I didn’t say anything, Bobby kept on: “I want to do real estate projects in Brooklyn and Queens. I’m looking at Bed-Stuy and Jamaica.”

  “So”—it took everything I had in me to ask—“you’re moving to New York? Is what Caroline told me true? That you want to take Angel with you?”

  He looked at me for a moment. “No, I’m not moving to New York . . .”

  I exhaled.

  “At least not permanently,” he added.

  That made me hold my breath again.

  “I’m an L.A. boy . . .”

  “By way of Texas.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “But L.A.’s in my blood now.”

  “So, not permanently. What does that mean?”

  “I’m gonna go back and forth. Be bicoastal.”

  I nodded slowly. “And what Caroline said? About you guys moving and thinking that you could take Angel with you?”

  “I’m really sorry about that; she shouldn’t have said anything to you.”

  “You apologized already . . . on Christmas.” Then I paused because I wanted the next word to stand on its own. “Remember?”

  He looked straight in my eyes when he said, “Yeah, I do.”

  So . . . he did remember our kiss.

  But then he said, “I’m really sorry about the way Christmas went down. Caroline shouldn’t have said anything and I told her that because nothing’s been decided.”

  “You talked to her about what she said to me?”

  He nodded.

  “What did she say?” I asked for no other reason than that I wanted to know if she’d mentioned seeing our kiss. Not that I cared one bit about Caroline Fitzgerald Johnson; I just wanted to know how she was going to play this.

  “She agreed. She said it just slipped out, and she’s really sorry.”

  Yeah, right. The only thing she was sorry about was that I’d told Bobby . . . and, oh yeah; she was probably sorry that Bobby and I had kissed, though it seemed like she was going to pretend that it never happened.

  Bobby said, “But that’s why I wanted to talk. I wanted to talk about what Caroline said . . . about Angel going to school in New York.”

  Oh. My. God. Bobby didn’t want to talk about us; he wanted to talk about taking my daughter away from me.

  “It’s not going to happen, Bobby!” I snapped. Every bit of my emotions came out in those six words. I was mad, I was hurt, I was heartbroken. He was trying to take my daughter away from me and he didn’t want me?

  “I don’t want you to be upset,” he said.

  “Then don’t mention this again.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that because our daughter is so talented, she deserves for us to have this conversation. She deserves this chance.”

  “You think I don’t want to give her the chance to pursue her dreams? We’re in Los Angeles, for God’s sake. She can do whatever she wants right here . . . with me, her mother, by her side.”

  “I understand what you’re saying. But, we all need to sit down and talk about this. Come to some agreement.”

  I stood up and crossed my arms. It was time for Bobby to go.

  But he didn’t make a move, so I said, “There’s nothing to talk about, not now, not ever.”

  With a sigh, he stood, too. When he reached toward me and put his hand on my shoulder, I flinched. Not that I didn’t want Bobby touching me. It was just that I’d expected that the next time I’d feel his hands against my skin, he’d be my lover.

  “I want the best for our daughter and I know you do, too. All I’m asking is for us to sit down . . . me, you, Angel . . . and Caroline.”

  Hearing his wife’s name was the final stake that stopped my beating heart. For thirteen days, I’d been thinking that Bobby was about to get rid of her, but he just wanted to talk about getting rid of me.

  “We’re going to have to talk about this at some point, Asia.”

  He said that as if it was a threat. As if I was afraid to have this talk. Well, I wasn’t afraid. There were a million ways I could say no, and I could say no a million times.

  I pushed Bobby’s hand off of me and stomped toward the front door, thinking that Bobby better get the hint if he wanted to walk out of here on his own two feet. ’Cause as hot as I was, I would’ve been able to lift him up and throw him out.

  Bobby was right behind me when I opened the door. His eyes drooped with sadness and I wondered why. He didn’t have a dang thang to be sad about. All of this hurt today belonged to me.

  As he passed by me, I looked away, staring at the floor. I didn’t even want to look at him. Not because I was so mad. I just didn’t want him to look at me and see the tears welling in my eyes. Because then he would know this wasn’t just about Angel. He would know he’d broken my heart once again.

  “I’ll give you a call,” he whispered before he stepped over the threshold.

  And my answer to him: I slammed the door in his face.

  Then I leaned back against the door. How could I have been so dumb? How could I have thought that Bobby would ever want me?

  I slid down until my butt met the carpet. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I cried as I banged the heels of my hands against my forehead. “Just stupid.”

  Tears burned my eyes, but I fought hard to keep them in check. Really, there was nothing to cry about. It wasn’t like Bobby was leaving me again.

  But the tears came anyway. Because it was clear now, Bobby was never coming back.

  Chapter

  Four

  Mom, are you sleep?” Angel whispered from my doorway.

  With a quickness, I clicked on the nightstand light. “No, baby. What’s wrong?”

  She scurried across the room in her red-and-white one-piece footed pajamas and jumped into my bed the way she used to. When she tucked herself under my arm and rested her head on my chest, all kinds of memories rushed me. The best times of my life were when Angel and I would be just like this, cuddled together, watching cartoons, eating ice cream, or just having one of our girl talks about fashion.

  I pulled her closer. “You couldn’t sleep?”

  “I kept falling asleep, but then I kept waking up.” She sighed as if the world weighed heavy on her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, wondering what tween angst I had to deal with now. Were girls picking on her, bullying her the way I’d been? I understood adolescent envy, and for young girls, there was a lot to envy about Angel.

  “I just have a lot on my mind,” she said.

  I chuckled. “Angel, you’re eleven. You shouldn’t have anything more on your mind than what you’re going to wear to casual Friday at school tomorrow.”

  “I’m not that shallow. I may not be grown, but I’m really mature for my age.”

  “Okay,” I said, chuckling. I didn’t know why my daughter was so determined to be grown. “What’s on your mind?”

  She released a long-drawn-out sigh. “My future.”

  In that instant, I knew where this conversation was going. I’d been able to avoid it with Angel for two weeks since I’d first heard this nonsense from Caroline. And I certainly hadn’t said anything about the talk I had with Bobby. To me, this was a closed subject, though it felt like
my daughter was about to kick it wide open.

  Angel began, “Dad said that you guys talked about me going to New York. That’s why he came by the other morning, right?”

  I spoke slowly because everything I said had to be on point. “That’s right.”

  She lifted her head from my chest and looked straight at me. “Mom, I really want to do it. I want to go to school in New York.”

  I’d said no to Bobby, but saying no to Angel wasn’t going to be so easy. And clearly saying no to Bobby didn’t mean much since he’d still gone behind my back and talked to Angel anyway.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at Dad,” she said, as if she’d heard my thoughts. “It’s just that today, I asked him if he had talked to you and he told me he did and that you weren’t happy about it.”

  “He shouldn’t have done that,” I told her. “He shouldn’t have talked to you about what he and I discussed. This is grown folks’ business.”

  “I know, but Dad treats me differently than you do. He treats me more like an adult.”

  “And that would be wrong since you’re a child.”

  “Well, maybe not like a grown, grown, grown adult, but he treats me like I’m mature, so we talk about everything.”

  The next time I saw Bobby . . .

  Before I could plot out all the ways I was going to handle him, Angel said, “Mom, why don’t you want me to go?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “But it is! Because my whole life I’ve wanted to be a singer, and a dancer, and an actress, and a model. And I know that if I want to do all of those things, I have to be really trained. And the School of Performing Arts is the best place in the world for me to get my training.”

  “I think ‘the best place in the world’ is a slight exaggeration. We’re in L.A., this is the home of actors and models and dancers and singers. Look at all the classes you’re taking.”

  Angel looked at me as if I had a “Big Dummy” tattoo on my forehead. “Okay, Mom,” she said. “I know you’re spending a lot of money on everything for all of my lessons and classes and I’m really grateful. But these classes right here—they’re amateur hour compared to the training I’ll get in New York at the School of Performing Arts.”